Master of the Winds
by ratsister
Summary: British & French Empires along with Colony America travel a vast unknown land. To end an unnatural blizzard, each seek out the Master of the winds, Russia. Will the colony manage to succeed where the empires fail? What if he does? Human and country names
1. Chapter 1: Stiff Upper Lip

_Siberian Folktale__: Master of the Winds, adapted to Rus/Ame! I'm tired and have two more things to write tonight, so sorry for the short intro. (: _

_There will be 4 parts to this; part 1: Stiff Upper Lip, Part 2: C'est Le' vie, Part 3: The American Way, and I won't tell you the title of the fourth part….hee hee._

_Enjoy!_

Part 1: Stiff Upper Lip

Long, long ago, three men were traveling an expansive land, far from their homes. Two great empires and a colony, appearing as two aristocrats and a servant as they traveled. One night they were huddled together in their old tent. The tent was full of holes and they shivered from the drafts of the unforgiving winter wind. The two older men were arguing as they often did.

"How daft do I look? You go!" The British Empire said to the French. The Englishman stamped his booted foot and scowled.

The Frenchman finished tying the bow that held back his shoulder length hair, and without even looking over his shoulder at the rival empire he smiled with ease. "Hononon! Do you want an answer to that, Rosbif?" Still laughing, he tossed his hair and turned to the fuming Brit. "It was your idea, I don't believe in your black magic! There is no 'master of the winds' you imbecile!"

Green eyes glared beneath prominent brows. Arthur looked around at their tent, his eyes finally alighting on the younger man he'd brought with him. "America!" The British Empire shifted and pointed to the younger man and then over his shoulder, "You go out and find the master of the winds and ask him to ease up this bloody storm!"

The colony groaned and complained but made ready to leave; he stood and began pulling on his worn coat, all the while glaring at the empire who was looking smugly at his sometimes friend, often enemy.

Francis, however moved in front of the English colony. "Oh, non, non Alfred– you don't have to do everything he tells you!" The Frenchman winked over his shoulder at America, who had stopped in the act of buttoning his coat and looked up, "I don't?"

The younger blonde considered the words and then brightened as though he'd had an epiphany. "Yeah! I don't, do I? Ha, take that Arthur – Francis says I don't have to go!" The colony straightened, placing both hands on his hips.

The ensuing fight between the two empires shook the tent as much as the wind outside, and when all was finally done, each man nursing his bruises and scrapes, including the young colony, the British empire finally stood.

"Alright, I'll go out and brave the bloody blizzard myself, you useless wankers!" He made a rude gesture toward the Frenchman and on his way out smacked his colony in the back of the head, "I'll expect you to pay for this when we get home – you stupid yank!"

Without another glance backward, the foul mouthed Englishman left the tent.

Arthur trudged through the blizzard; he moved forward against the blasts of wind that obscured the sky and blew open his coat, took away his hat, and filled his boots with snow.

Often he stopped to empty the snow from his boots, and re-button his long brocade coat. He cursed the wind and kept going.

When he finally came to the top of a tall hill, the Brit was in a worse mood than ever before. A little bird was flitting around his head, and it kept trying to land on his shoulder. "Piss off!" He yelled at it and shooed it away.

After shaking the snow from his boots again, the irritated empire noticed a fur lined tent far below and made his way quickly down the hill toward the home of the master of the winds.

Inside he found meat; a chunk of fresh venison lay uncooked beside the fire. There was no one else in the tent…

Thinking surely he was meant to cook a meal for the one who controlled the winds, he set to quick work and soon the meat was cooked.

No sooner had he removed the meat form the fire in the center of the tent than the flap of the door opened to reveal a young giant. This giant was unlike the giants in his stories, instead of larger than a house, this giant could have passed for human...at around 8 feet tall, he still towered over the smaller man. Arthur had to remind himself that though he was small, his empire spanned many continents, especially if he counted that one he sent all his prisoners too…

The giant spoke in a small voice that didn't at all match the size of the man himself, "What brings you here, where did you come from?"

The Brit looked up into the light violet eyes and small smile on the other man's face. "Is this your tent, then? You're the bloke they call the master of the winds?"

Smiling at the recognition, the violet eyed man leaned down toward the short blonde. "Da. You can call me Ivan."

Standing up as tall as he could, Arthur asserted himself. "If you're the master of the winds, then I've come to ask you to calm this blasted snowstorm!"

When the taller man frowned and begin to chant softly, Arthur realized he may have insulted the only one who could lessen the horrible winds. Thinking fast, he gestured toward the meat he had cooked and smiled hopefully at the violet eyed man. "I cooked your dinner for you."

"Hmm…" The master of the winds considered the meat in the kettle. "I will see if I like the taste." He sat down beside the fire and took a plate and a slice of the venison. Before tasting it himself, he turned to Arthur. "Cut this in two. Half will be for us. The other half I want you to take to the next tent." Holding the fork to his mouth, the taller man continued,"Wait to be given the bowl again and then bring it back to me."

The Englishman nodded and thinking it wasn't going to be very hard to convince the violet eyed giant to ease the blizzard, he left the tent before Ivan had taken his first bite.

While the master of the winds was spitting out the bite he'd taken and throwing the rest of the meat into the fire with a loud "Yeblia! Eta Uzhnasnyee Vkoos!" The Brit who'd cooked the meat was growing more and more frustrated in the blinding white that was all he could see in the raging storm.

Finally he'd had enough. Deciding there was no way he was going to find the other tent, and Ivan didn't need to know anyway, Arthur dumped the other half of the meat into the snow where it sank beneath the growing drifts.

When he got back to the tall man in the tent, he was greeted by a dark purple light surrounding the master of the winds who was glaring at him, still with the tiny smile.

"I have never tasted so horrible a meal." The giant was tapping a long pipe into his open palm. "An attempt to poison me, da?"

The British empire paled and backed toward the doorway again. "What?" The giant hadn't liked his food? How was that possible – his scones were famous! Arthur put up his hands and focused on the reason for being there. "Blimey! C'mon chap, I never tried to poison you! Give me another chance, I promise you'll be chuffed to bits; it'll be brilliant!"

Slowly the purple shadowy light was receding. Ivan set the pipe down and appeared to believe that he had not been poisoned. "Do you have the bowl?" He asked the relieved empire who nodded and handed over the empty bowl.

The large Russian had few words, "Hm. Interesting" was all he said, and before Arthur could ask what was so bloody interesting about an empty bowl, the violet eyed giant gestured toward a pile of new deer skin. "Dress these skins and make new clothes for me while I go out hunting." The master of the winds continued, "I am still hungry after all and I will see if you are more skilled at this than at your cooking." Ivan stopped at the door and turned back. "I expect you to be finished by the time I come home at dawn."

He then left Arthur alone in the tent. The Englishman swore and wondered how he'd possibly get all that done before dawn. It was surely impossible! Thinking he had better things to waste his time on, the empire sat down and began to work. He knew it was a botch job, but really, what could he do in such little time?

After only an hour, an old man came into the tent bringing a freezing chill with him. He spoke gruffly and his breath was like ice making the Brit shiver worse than if he had been out in the blizzard.

The ancient man asked if he would remove a speck from his eye as it was bothering him and he was unable to reach it. Arthur replied between chattering teeth, "Clear off you old geezer! Can't you see I'm busy?"

To his relief, the old man departed without a complaint, taking the biting frost with him.

Soon forgetting the incident entirely, Arthur finished the clothing for the master of the winds. He knew it wasn't the best. "But really," he spoke aloud, "he asks the impossible!"

He sat down to wait for Ivan, who arrived shortly before dawn.

"Are my clothes ready?" The Russian giant asked.

"They are." The Brit replied.

Ivan took the clothes in hand; the skins were stiff and the stitching was crooked. None of the pieces fit together evenly. When he tried them on, he didn't get further than one uneven sleeve and knew they were all made too narrow.

"kolkolkolkolkol….!" The chanting and the darkly glowing purple shadow were back.

The next second found the empire out in the snow, flat on his back. Standing and dusting the snow from his coat, Arthur began his way back through the blizzard, which had only increased in strength and decreased in temperature.

"What a load of rubbish!" The Englishman continued to complain about the apparently impossible to please master of the winds as he trudged up hill through the snow. "Total bollocks! That mad bloke was in control of the wind? No wonder.

Arthur didn't ease up his swearing the entire way back to the tent. After traveling a day, he drew close to the tent. Arthur had been gone a total of three days. Both Francis and Alfred looked up toward the tent's doorflap as he stomped in. The British Empire dumped the snow from his boots and shook off his coat before throwing one wet boot at Francis. "Oi! You git – your turn!"

_End of Part 1 of the 4 part series._

_I hope it was enjoyable! Reviews lovingly appreciated!  
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_Yeblia! Eta Uzhnasnyee Vkoos! = Fuck! That terrible taste!_

Еьля! Это ужасный вкус! (I just assume this won't flow as well for most)

_(Please let me know if any of this is wrong. I've never had to yell this so I had to look it up and my Romanization of the Cyrillic may be off, if so, lemme know the correct way please (: Spasiba! _Спасибо

Up next: Part two – C'est le vie


	2. Chapter 2: C'est le vie

_Thank you to those who reviewed, faved, and alerted, especially to those who reviewed, I love you so! _

_And now, without further ado, lets see how France does, shall we?_

PART 2 – 'C'est le vie'

Francis was still laughing after the rival empire finished telling him what had happened. Clutching at his heart, letting his head fall back, the Frenchman's derisive laugh filled the tent.

"Really!" Arthur flopped beside his colony on the floor of the tent.

Alfred turned wide blue eyes to his empire. "There really is a master of the winds then? And some creepy old dude?" The colony didn't add that he wasn't surprised at all that Ivan hadn't liked Arthur's cooking, his "famous" scones were more infamous than famous.

"Hononon! I'm sure I can talk zhis 'master of ze wind' into stopping ze blizzard! My cooking is renown and my style is magnifique, non? If it is clothing and a dinner zhis giant needs I should never 'ave let you go!" Francis laughed again, "You might 'ave killed him with your horrible food and zhen we would never be rid of zhis snow!" Then, his cloak swirling behind him, the French empire stepped into the blizzard and began to make his way in the direction the other had given him.

Like his long time rival, Francis stopped frequently to empty the snow from his boots, to re-fasten his cloak as it billowed around him and threatened to blow away.

Like England had been, France was in a foul mood himself upon reaching the top of the hill. He too met the little bird who flitted around his head and tried to land on his shoulders.

Not realizing that he was acting exactly as Arthur, the man he constantly ridiculed for being a tasteless buffoon, Francis shooed the bird away. "Va-t'en!" He brushed away the loose feathers that had fallen on his shoulder.

Francis looked down, seeing the tent Arthur had described he made his way down the mountain. He had stopped along the way, and carried a bag over his shoulder filled with potatoes and carrots as well as the spices he had brought with him on their trip.

As the French empire stepped into the tent and began work on a fine roast sure to please the master of the winds, he laughed at the thought of England cooking and then shook his head feeling sorry for the unfortunate colony who had to put up with such atrocious food. All of his colonies knew well how to cook as he had taught them himself.

Francis was ready for the violet eyed giant, and before he arrived, the Frenchman had prepared a plate of roast venison with boiled potatoes and carrots on the side, seasoned with the finest spices he'd brought from home. The French empire knew how to dress a meal, the food itself wasn't enough to make the experience. He'd looked around the Russian's tent and found candles, an embroidered linen cloth, and a bottle of vodka. While it wasn't wine, clearly the giant enjoyed it or he wouldn't have it in his home.

All these things Francis arranged elegantly to create an atmosphere at least nearly worthy of the meal he had prepared.

Ivan's eyes roved around his tent as soon as he stepped through the door flap, taking note of the prepared meal as well as the ambiance. He greeted the new intruder as he had the last.

"Where are you from? Why have you come here?"

With a wink and a charming smile, Francis replied smoothly, "Oh, mon ami, I have come to make amends for ze horrible travesty zhat ze English call food!" The Frenchman waved a hand toward the table as the giant sat down to the meal. "If ze meal is to your liking, maybe you would consider putting an end to zhis terrible storm, non?"

Ivan smiled and took a bite. "Mm! Ochen Vkoosnee!" The master of the winds' small smile grew and he prepared to take a second bite. "Cut this in two, and take half of this meat to the next tent. Be sure to wait to have the bowl returned before coming back."

"Oui, of course!" Naturally, he had succeeded where England had failed. Francis gloated in his mind, already planning how to rub his victory in Arthur's face. He already had a plan for the clothing issue and could foresee no problems with his scheme.

However, his good mood deteriorated rapidly when he couldn't make his way through the blizzard to see another tent. No matter how he looked he could make nothing out. Francis hated the cold and shivered, kicking his elegant boots against one another.

He hated the idea of wasting such well made food; it was art really. At the same time, he didn't cared for the idea of wandering aimlessly in the snow until he eventually came to another tent. Finally he decided to bury the meat in the snow and mark the place with a stick. The roast would freeze and he could come back for it afterwards. Surely that America could use some good food after his absence, being left with only Arthur's 'skills'.

After burying the meat and returning to the master of the winds, Francis held out the empty bowl for Ivan who had asked for it immediately upon his return.

"Hm. Interesting." The reply was the same as it had been for England. The giant stood from the table, his smile had wavered slightly. "You are talented with cooking. I will see if you are as skillful at this…" Ivan turned violet eyes to the pile of fresh skins from the hunt the day before.

"Make new clothes for me from these skins; I will go hunting and if you do well the storm will end. I will be back by dawn to see if you have finished."

Francis nodded, knowing he already had a no-fail plan in mind.

As soon as Ivan had left, the Frenchman pulled from his pack, yards of fine silk, brocade, and satin. He set to work, his pins held between his lips, a serious expression on his face. He knew when the master of the winds returned he would be pleasantly surprised with the far superior garments he was making. Really, leather was so out of fashion these days, Francis thought to himself as he worked, pulling a stitch expertly to achieve an effortless ruffle.

Not an hour into his work, the freezing old man entered the doorway just as he had for England. Just as he had asked Arthur, the ancient man asked Francis if he would help him take the spec out of his eye

Even though the fabric he'd brought was much easier to work with than the unfinished skins, it was still taking a lot of quick work; he had no time to dawdle with some old man!

Shivering from the frost the ancient man brought into the tent, Francis dismissed him with as much care as would be expected from a French monarch. Without looking up from his work, he waved his hand at the man, and still holding the pins between his lips he carelessly muttered, "Je m'en fou, old man! Don't you know zhis tent belongs to ze master of ze winds? Get out of here!"

The old man left, the frigid temperatures going with him. Francis continued to work, and unlike Arthur, he knew he'd done a good job even though it had been quick. These garments would be far, far better than anything he would have made with the skins, and much better than that ridiculous coat and hat the Russian was already wearing. How old fashioned!

Just as the smug Frenchman was putting away his pins and fabric scraps, the first signs of dawn were peaking through the cracks of the tent. Ivan returned, stepping through the door flap.

"Are my clothes finished?" The giant asked.

"Zhey are!" Francis gestured to the finished pieces hanging over the edge of a chair.

Ivan picked up the clothing. "This is not what I was thinking of…" The Russian master of the winds looked at the coat he'd been made. Surely this was just for show? It would never keep him warm… the material was far to thin, and all the bows and ruffles? He picked up the gloves next, short and thin again, they would be useless and easily torn on the hunt. The boots were the worst by far and Ivan didn't even try them on. He could tell they were too small for his feet and he was glad of it! Pointed and garish with bows and ribbons like the coat.

The small smile disappeared and the giant wrinkled his nose. He turned to Francis, the purple shadows returning. "These are ladies clothes, da? Do you think I am not a man?" The violet eyed giant advanced on him, and Francis quickly retreated against the wall of the tent. "Non, non, non!" He defended his garments, "Zhis is all the fashion at home! Leather is so passé!"

"kolkolkolkolkolkol….!" The chanting Arthur had told him about streamed from the giants mouth.

Francis found the tent flaps and ran out into the blizzard. "He 'as no taste whatsoever! Zhat Fils de pute!" Francis first retrieved the frozen meat and then trudged through the snow toward his tent. How was he to know the giant had no style? It wasn't his fault the storm still raged.

It was with a determined glare that he threw open the door flap of their worn tent dramatically. The French Empire threw the meat to the American colony and then glared at the British Empire while shaking the snow from his cloak. "C'est le bordel!" He loved my cooking of course, but you didn't tell me he had no sense of style!"

As the Brit laughed hard, imagining the Russian in anything the decadent Frenchman had designed, Francis took the meat from Alfred and began to reheat it over the fire.

"Honononon." He mock laughed at the guffawing rival. "Va te faire foutre, morceau de merde!" He added, tossing his hair back and setting his blue eyes coldly on the empire still rolling with laughter. "Don't think you'll get any of zhis roast eizher, Rosbif!"

_Next installment: The American Way. I hope you all are enjoying this little tale as much as I am (: _

_French and Russian:_

очень вкусный - Ochen Vkoosnee - deliscious!

Va-t'en! - begone!

mon ami - my friend

Je m'en fou - I dont give a fuck

Fils de pute! - son of a whore!

C'est le bordel! -lit. this is a whorehouse! means: what a mess!

Va te faire foutre, morceau de merde! - Fuck you, you piece of shit!

_Reviews lovingly appreciated! All gratitude to Abbygreeneyes for the French!  
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	3. Chapter 3: The American Way

_Thank you all for the reviews! I'm so glad you all are liking this so far! I hope to keep it as funny, though there are some more serious bits in here as well. Fluff, romance, humour, and...rebellion (; _

_Oh, how history might have been...  
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_Lets see how America does things, hm?_

Part 3: The American Way

After eating the reheated roast Francis had brought back, it was decided that Arthur's colony, America would indeed be the one to go now to convince the Russian master of the winds to ease up on the storm.

Alfred was feeling uneasy about the task, but his confidence was bolstered when Arthur laughed and told him derisively, 'Good luck!' The Brit's tone said all too clearly that he didn't believe his colony would be able to achieve what he himself had so miserably failed at.

Narrowing blue eyes, Alfred his back to Arthur and looked to Francis. "Teach me how to cook."

Over the next week, As the British empire sat off to the side sipping on his tea and offering no help at all, the French empire taught the younger America as much as he could in the short time.

When at last Francis felt he had taught Alfred all he could about creating a decent roast, and a few basic culinary rules in general, He declared the colony ready to face the challenge.

Both empires now spoke to him at once, warning him to just try his best to make the clothes, though it was impossible to do so much in such a short time, and without proper tools! They both told him of an old man who would be distracting, suggesting he simply ignore him and try to finish the clothes on time.

Before he left, each Francis and Arthur took him aside separately.

"Alfred, zhis Ivan, the master of ze winds, he does not seem unreasonable at first, though he 'as no fashion sense at all," Alfred rolled his eyes as Francis continued. "You are charmant in your own way, non?" The Frenchman winked. "Smile, batt your lashes over zhose beautiful blue eyes and for ze sake of all zhat is holy, be polite," France looked to England, who sat muttering under his breath into his tea, scowling. "Do not take after _this_." At that moment, Arthur swore particularly foully staring into his tea as though it had wronged him, clearly thinking of the master of the winds and not the earl gray in his cup.

France sighed dramatically, and still not giving America a chance to really say a word he turned away. Leaning against the far wall of the tent, he lit up a cigarette, blowing the smoke in his rival's direction.

As England approached his colony, he put down the teacup and crossed his arms. "Alright Alfred...I've raised you, done my bloody best, even if you are uncouth, disorganized, improper, brash, …"

As he went on and on, listing all of Alfred's faults, the colony stared back and crossed his arms. Finally growing exhausted with the Brit's tirade, he cut him off mid sentence, blood boiling, and patience wearing thin. "Is that all? Are ya done?"

Looking deeply offended, Arthur stepped back and crossed his arms as well. "Just don't muck it up in your usual fashion."

Without another word or look, the colony turned his back on the empire and with his pack over his shoulder, left the tent. The door flap swinging in the wind behind him.

"You're going to lose him, better watch that." France spoke smugly but with the undercurrent of advice from one monarchy to another, even if he made no attempt to hide his personal enjoyment, an empire was an empire and one revolution sparks another.

England fastened the ties to the tent flap, "Shut it, you." He turned, but didn't meet the smug Frenchman's face as he poured another cup of earl grey.

While the two empires shared an uneasy and silence and waited to see if the young colony would succeed where they had not, Alfred was trudging through the snow cursing them.

"Bastards." He muttered into the wind. "Even France didn't offer me his cloak. 'Supposed to be friends..he just likes me when he fights with Arthur."

His coat was worn and old and frayed at the ends. The blizzard blew the coat open, and filled his boots with snow just as it had done to both England and France before him. However, Alfred did not stop in his trek to rebutton the coat, knowing he didn't have all the buttons to begin with, and stopping would only slow him down. He didn't shake the snow from his boots because they would fill again from both the snow that fell as well as that which he stepped on as the soles were worn as his coat.

The determined colony ignored the cold and continued on his way.

When at long last he came to the top of the hill and had a moment, he shook the snow from this coat and boots; Alfred was in a wonderful mood as he stood atop the hill in the clear air.

When the little bird flew to him, he smiled at it and greeting it as a friend, he allowed it to land on his shoulder.

The little bird rested on his shoulder all the way down the hillside and only flew away as the colony entered the fur lined tent he knew to be the home of the master of winds.

Seeing the meat waiting, just as France and England had said it would, he immediately set to work following Francis' instructions, nearly. In the end, Alfred was far too independent to be happy making a copy of Francis's cuisine, and he took the roast and cut it in pieces which he lay on slices of bread he had found in the giant's cupboard.

No sooner had he finished setting up the plate and readying the table with the vodka as the French empire had done, than the door flap opened and in walked the master of the winds.

Alfred turned toward him, ready to answer the questions the empires had told him would be asked.

They had not told him the master of the winds would have such interestingly violet eyes, or a small smile as he looked down at him. He may be 8 feet tall and all, but he didn't seem that bad...

Alfred was of a decent height himself, and still growing, and so was not intimidated by height.

"Who are you and why have you come?" The violet eyed giant asked him in a surprisingly soft voice.

Standing tall and proud, he stated his full name, all those words had to come in handy and impressive sometime. "I'm America. The thirteen colonies of British America, to be exact." _Yeah, thats right,_ he thought, _thirteen. _

The Russian looked at him.

Really, just looked at him. It was a bit unnerving.

Finally, walking toward the table, the master of the winds spoke at last.

"You can call me Ivan," he turned the small smile toward Alfred. "Unless you would rather we use such formal titles, in which case you may choose to call me Master of the Winds or Imperial Russia."

America stood dumbfounded. Oh great. so the master of the winds was another Empire? He was so tired of Empires. While he stood there, Ivan had taken a bite of the meal he'd prepared.

"Vkoosnee, British America." Ivan smiled fully at him, enjoying the improvised meal he'd created.

Alfred didn't have a clue what the first part was, but suddenly decided formality was certainly not needed as he inwardly cringed at being called British. "Uh, you can call me Alfred." If he was talking to another empire, he wasn't going to impress him with his name anyway.

"Good Alfred, I like that better, I did not much like the Englishman who came here. I think he may have tried to poison me."

Alfred laughed and sat down across from the master of the winds, relaxed. He rested his elbows on the table and explained that Arthur was just a terrible cook.

After they both ate half of the meat, Ivan, still smiling the enigmatic smile gave Alfred the same bowl he had given to Francis and Arthur and asked him to take it to the next tent.

"Make sure to wait until you are returned the bowl then bring it back to me, da?"

Alfred nodded and brimming with confidence at one task completed, he fastened his coat as well as he could, and prepared to leave the tent.

Before he had opened the door, America felt the Russian Empire's hand on his shoulder.

"This coat is not sufficient for my winter." The violet eyed master of the wind's smile had faded.

The colony shrugged, though he did take in the long fur coat, hat, and soft looking scarf the Russian wore. His worn coat may not be much, but it was his. "It's alright. I got here in it."

Ivan smiled again. "I see you are brave, and do not fear the elements." He leaned down, "I know you did not stop to fasten your coat when my wind blew so coldly. You did not stop to empty the snow from your boots."

His words took Alfred by surprise. How had he known? Putting that question off until later, America squared his shoulders again. "Thanks for the concern, Ivan." He stepped into the blizzard, "But I'm just fine in the coat I have. Its mine."

While the determined colony trudged forward through the snow and wind outside, he did not know the Russian empire was thinking of his latest visitor. It was not often he met a colony that was not his own, and he had never expected to meet someone quite like the proud, outspoken, informal man. Ivan hoped he would not fail at the second test like the two other visitors had.

The blizzard blew with intensity against Alfred's once again open jacket. His boots were filled with snow and he was unable to feel his toes, but still he continued, trying to see through the blinding whiteness all around him.

Just before his frustration could get the better of him, the little bird he had met atop the hill flew through the falling snow.

"Hello there!" He greeted it happily.

The bird chirped and hovered in the air for a moment before flitting forward and stopping to wait for him.

Alfred followed the bird through the blizzard until finally he stumbled on a mound of snow. Blue eyes wide, he looked down as a light began to glow inside the snow. Suddenly, a door appeared and an old man opened the door to reach for the bowl. The frigid blast coming from inside the old man's snow covered underground home was, as impossible as the colony found it to believe, even colder than the blizzard outside.

None the less he handed the old man the bowl of meat. The door closed, and Alfred waited outside with the bird for company. After many hours had passed and he began to feel drowsy, the bird chirped and pecked at him to keep him awake. He could not feel his feet now, and wondered if he had been too proud. Would Ivan have loaned him a coat? boots? a hat, maybe?

Finally, just as Alfred was beginning to become used to the bird's attempts at keeping him awake, the light returned and the door opened.

The old man held out the bowl. Not feeling even the freezing temperatures coming from the ancient man, Alfred took the bowl with numb fingers and began to move his legs through the snow, following the bird back to Ivan's fur lined tent.

All along the trek back the colony did not stop to look into the bowl, all his attention focused into keeping the bird in view and making his way back to the warmth inside the tent.

After what seemed like an eternity, Alfred finally pulled back the tent flap and staggered into the tent. The tent was blazing hot in comparison to the frigid outside.

In an instant, violet eyes were wide and looking into his own. The master of the winds was taking the bowl from his stiff fingers, removing his dark fur coat, wrapping the colony in it, Ivan guided Alfred to the fire in the center of the tent.

The Russian empire ignored the weak protests and confident grins the British colony kept up between chattering teeth. The younger man was chilled through. His lips were tinged in a blue too near the color of his eyes, blonde hair frosted in ice which clung to each strand making his third visitor appear as a flower caught out in a late ice storm.

Each time someone, be it another kingdom, empire, or one of his own people, came to petition him to raise or ease the wind for whatever reason, Ivan had simply given them three tasks tradition dictated he give. Never had anyone completed each task. Many had frozen to their deaths on the second task, if they had treated his bird well and gotten to the hidden tent that is.

Ivan looked into the bowl. He smiled. This young colony was impressive indeed. Determined, strong, brave, inventive. Ivan had only the third test to see if Alfred was also kind, generous, and industrious. These were all the requirements to be met before his request could be granted.

Ivan had not asked, but had assumed Alfred had been sent by the British Empire to ask for the same thing, that he lessen the biting winter wind. Suddenly, the Russian empire found himself hoping there was more Alfred might want from him.

_Clearly_, the empire thought, _He is not being treated well by this Arthur. _Ivan remembered clearly the thick brocade coat with all it's shiny silver buttons intact, the tall leather boots, and nice new clothing the Englishman had worn, while here was his colony in a worn coat, thin handed down clothing, and, Ivan watched as Alfred made himself comfortable, kicking off wet snow covered boots.

and, he had been sent out in boots with holes in them! Holes. The soles were worn out entirely on the toes. This would not do.

Ivan passed the young colony as he reclined beside the fire at ease, his shivers decreasing. Frozen clothing was now wet and clinging to him as the snow turned to water and dripped onto the floor.

Alfred would have to meet with the third and final test and the sooner Ivan left, the more time he would have. However, the empire had been moved by the colony with a mind of his own and would not set the third task to him until Alfred was in warm, dry clothing.

Ivan turned back to the colony. "Alfred. I want you to have these. Go and change into them if you are to make my clothes from these hides." Ivan gestured to the fresh skins from the previous day's hunt. "Arthur and Francis told you of this task, da?"

As Alfred changed, Ivan turned away politely. This colony of England's was attractive as well as interesting and determined, The Russian empire was more than aware of his emotions and the desire to turn around was a strong one, but the violet eyed tsardom thought more chivalrous thoughts and stayed with his back to America until he heard him speak up from behind him.

"Um, thanks Ivan, these are really nice!" Alfred's smile was infectious as he grinned running a hand along the embroidered wool sleeve of his long tunic. Ivan smiled back, feeling the warmth of the blush that crossed his face as Alfred wiggled his toes in the slightly-too-large furry boots which held in wide pantaloons just peaking from beneath the knee- length tunic.

"I am sorry that they are so old, Alfred." Ivan moved forward and placed the warm ushanka atop his guests golden hair. "All my new clothing is kept in my homes at St. Petersburg and Moscow, but I prefer the older styles personally."

"They _are _different!" Alfred laughed leaning one hand on the Russian's arm, "But I like them - they're warm and soft, you won't hear me complaining!" Ivan felt his face flush further and noted happily that the young colony was blushing as well.

The Russian empire took the hand that rested against his sleeve. "I am glad. Perhaps you would like to see more of my country one day?"

Ivan's eyes gleamed with satisfaction as the blonde continued to smile though his face had gone red, "Yeah, that'd be fun."

It was with reluctance that the Russian recalled his duties as master of the winds, and picked the bowl up once again to place in front of America. It had been filled with tools useful for leatherwork and stitching when the colony had received it from the ancient man beneath the snow.

"That is good to hear, but first, you must do one more thing for me. You will have until I return at dawn to make new clothes from the fresh skins there in the corner." Ivan touched the tip of Alfred's nose playfully and smiled the small smile. "I feel confident that you will succeed"

"Well, hell yeah!" The young man lifted his chin. "I can do anything."

Violet eyes sparkled amethyst at the sure response and didn't leave those of bright blue until he had to turn at the doorway to leave.

The young colony was alone for some time, having started immediately on dressing the skins. He was making progress, even as he had to bend close to his work, being nearsighted. Alfred had had much practice with this sort of work and prided himself on how industrious he could be when he set his mind to it.

However, no matter how he worked, the young colony began to despair that he would not be able to complete the task before dawn. He was determined not to do a bad job, as the master of the winds, Ivan, had put such faith in him and been so kind.

Just as he had these thoughts, the door-flap opened and with a gust of freezing air, the old man reappeared.

gruffly and his breath was like ice making Alfred shiver as though he was out in the blizzard again, the ancient man asked if he would remove a speck from his eye as it was bothering him and he was unable to reach it.

America immediately put down the leather he was working on and helped the old man by finding the speck and removing it from his eye.

What the ancient man did next shocked the colony and he raised an eyebrow. "Do what?"

The old man with the air of ice had turned his head and repeated himself in the same gruff voice.

"look into my ear and tell me what you see."

Shrugging and thinking it couldn't hurt to humour the strange ancient man, the blonde leaned in, peered close and then gasped at what he saw inside the man's ear. There were two young women, and three young men.

No sooner had he seen them than each one began emerging from the ear to greet him. All but one that is, one of the women stayed inside, her arms crossed, she scowled at him.

The young woman was beautiful, with large blue eyes, short pale blonde hair, and generous bosom. She introduced herself as Ivan's older sister, saying her younger sister was a little moody and would be staying inside for now.

The three young men introduced themselves as being under Ivan's reign, separate states themselves but a part of the empire.

America greeted them each as friends and the four soon sat with him on the floor of the tent; taking up the tools themselves, each soon took a separate job in the task to be completed and with their help the job was done well before dawn.

He thanked the three young men, saying he hoped to see them again soon. He thanked Ivan's sister, who embraced him in a warm hug. She said she felt sure they could be close friends and hoped to see him again as well. She followed the three men as they headed back to the home of the ancient man. She told him not to worry about her younger sister, as she did not like anyone else outside the family, it was just her way.

After they had all left, the young colony found that he was tired from the long day he had had and he lay down beside the fire to rest and wait for the return of the master of the winds. Weary blue eyes soon closed and he fell fast asleep.

As Alfred slept beside the fire, Ivan, instead of gone hunting as he had each and every time before, had traveled on the strong currents of his winds to a far away land where the air was warm and the fields were in bloom. From there he had gone to first the Tsarina, and secondly to the Patriarch. He had a plan, and was not so much asking permission, but informing his bosses of what he would be doing.

After all, they may hold power for their short lives, and it may be easier for them to tell him what to do in the summer months, but if they wanted the winter to end, they would not argue.

And they did not. Well, the patriarch had begun to, but he too was a man, and wanted the warm months to return, the frigid winds to abate.

Dawn was breaking just as Ivan stepped inside the tent, he was hopeful that the beautiful and brave young colony had finished the last task and was pleased to see the skins had been transformed into leather and sewn with care and attention to detail.

The wind dropped outside the tent and all became quiet as the empire tried on the clothes the British colony had made him. They fit perfectly, as he knew they would.

"America." The violet eyed giant knelt beside the sleeping blonde. "Wake up. You have completed all the tasks set before you. You may request anything you want."

Alfred sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. "Oh? Um, good, so you liked the clothes?"

Ivan smiled, "They are perfect." he continued, "What did you come here to seek?"

"Oh, right! Uh, the winds, can you, ya know, ease up on the blizzard? Alfred blinked away all remnants of sleepiness and noticed the Russian had one hand behind his back. Suddenly on guard, he sat up fully.

The Russian empire moved to settle on both knees, the taller man now face to face with the colony. "I have already done so."

The silence outside confirmed his words.

Alfred was suddenly not sure of his feelings. "Oh? um, great. so, uh, we'll be able to travel again." Blue eyes moved away from those of violet staring so intently into them.

"If you wish to return, da, you will be able to." Ivan then pulled from behind his back the bouquet of sunflowers and wild roses he had picked from the land far away where summer lasted all year long. "I have enjoyed your company and my family likes you. You could stay here, with me, if you choose it."

"Huh?" Alfred took the flowers with a dumbfounded expression and lay them between he and Ivan. He shook his head to clear it and peered closely at the man in front of him as he felt the soft petal of a rose. "What do you mean? How is that possible?'

The Russian empire stood and took the colony by both hands. "Stay here and be my wife."

Closing the space between them, the master of the winds held America's hands close against his heart between them and inclined his head to meet the other's eyes. Ivan ignored Alfred's sudden burst of "Wife? But I'm a man, I'd be a husband!" and "Uh, but what about England? I really really don't think he'd go for that!"

Chuckling, the Russian empire continued. "Have you seen a map lately, Alfred? Your England may have much to his empire, but his home is small." The large man shrugged. "I am not concerned with what the British empire thinks. I am only concerned with your opinion."

America was silent and simply stared at the Russian. If he were to marry Ivan, what would that mean for the colonies? Would there be war with England? Was Russia really that powerful? What of the freedoms he wanted and wasn't getting now, was shacking up with another empire the best idea? His heart beat hard in his chest. It was true that he found the violet eyed Russian attractive, and Ivan had not shown him any reason to fear him, but he also didn't know much about him...

Ivan waited patiently. He felt the rings inside his coat and the papers the Tsarina had insisted upon beside them.

He waited.

waited...

waited...

finally he began to be impatient.

Perhaps the young colony needed some encouragement; assurance of some kind.

The Russian empire released the other man's hands to enfold his intended in his arms. Ivan lifted Alfred slightly off the floor and brought their lips together. America's lips were soft, the taste was light and warm, and, Ivan's heart soared, Alfred was kissing him back. When they broke the kiss, as they had to eventually do, the Russian empire held the American colony close. "Da?"

"Uh...that's 'yes' right?" Alfred backed up a space to look up at Ivan. The kiss had been amazing and he couldn't deny it had felt wonderful in the broad Russian's arms. "What, um,what would happen to my colonies exactly?"

Ivan could see that the younger man was worried. "Alfred," He began, leaning in again to convey his sincerity, "You will not want. I will take care of you, mo'ee derogoy." Violet eyes became fierce and hard. "What else does Arthur deny you, aside from decent winter clothing?"

Alfred answered that question readily. "He taxes the hell outta me, I don't get a say in anything!"

Ivan thought for a moment. "Well, I cannot say you would not pay taxes, but I will always give you a voice above all others." Again, he took the blonde's lips with his own and felt the colony kiss him back, granting him entrance to the warm, sweet mouth as their tongues moved and explored eachother as the Russian empire fully intended their bodies to do. Once they were married of course, he didn't really want to anger the patriarch that much.

Pulling back from the kiss, Ivan was pleased to see soft blue eyes and a bemused smile. However, the determination he had first admired surfaced almost immediately.

"Religious freedom." Alfred cocked his head to the side and eyed him, waiting for the reaction.

"You have it."

"You will listen to me? Always?"

"Da."

Alfred thought hard, this one might be the breaking point. He really hoped Ivan would agree to it, as the prospect of staying with the intriguing violet eyed man was very tempting, even if the power of the empire was, as with all empires, a little worrying. More than a little worrying. What would insure that Ivan kept his promises? Only this...

"My own militia."

The Russian did take some time to answer. Clearly, Ivan had not been expecting this request. But at long last, he smiled.

"You may have it. but my love," The master of the winds looked almost sorry, "It can not outnumber that of the Tsarina's."

Alfred supposed he could not have expected any different. He took a deep breath.

Ivan pulled him back in close. "Marry me. Become one with me, Alfred, and I will give you everything you want. Cool breezes in the summer, protection from the harsh winds in the winter. I will not call you a colony, I will simply call you Amerika and you will be a part of the empire. Intimately, close to my heart always."

The master of the winds conjured a warm breeze from the south to blow through the tent. The breeze ruffled Alfred's blonde locks as Ivan reached to take hold of his chin. "Say you will stay."

Feeling the breeze, looking into stunning violet eyes, thinking of the promises made, the colony felt all thoughts of what the British empire would do fall from his mind.

"ok."

"da?" Ivan still held onto Alfred's chin and leaned in close. "You will stay and become my wife?"

"Yes." Alfred laughed, "But like I said, I'm a ma-" but his words were cut short when the Russian empire, the master of the winds, brought their lips together for the third time. The kiss was powerful and impassioned, and unlike the cold winds, Ivan's kiss sent heat flowing throughout his body.

After the kiss, Ivan brought out his Amerika's simple gold ring. Pleased with the blush on the soon to be former British colony's face, the Russian empire lowered Alfred's offered left hand to slide the ring onto the third finger of the right.

He then spread the paper he'd been given by the Tsarina on the table and watched with mounting glee as Alfred signed it.

…..

Some distance away, over the hill and a good day's journey away, Francis smiled as he threw open the tent's door flap. "Mon dieu! He has done it, He must 'ave listened to my advice!"

But instead of the reaction he had expected from his sometimes friend, often enemy, as the sun spilled into the tent, the winds abated, Francis turned to see Arthur holding his stomach as though he was about to be sick. "Uarrgh.." the British empire groaned. "Bloody hell. Something has gone horribly wrong." Green eyes looked up in anguish and fury. "Where the Devil is my colony? What could be taking him so long?"

Francis picked up the teacup shards from the floor of the tent as he laughed. "Hononon! I told you mon ami!"

The French empire continued to laugh even as the British landed a well aimed punch to his jaw.

_Next chapter: A Russian Wedding_

_What will happen? What will the consequences of Amerika's decision be? oh, also, recall that M rating? I just dont want anyone to be surprised; Imperial Ivan is chivalrous, but they are about to get married~ _

вкусный -Vkoosnee - delicious as you may recall. (missing the Ochen which is like 'very')

Мой дорогой - Mo'ee Derogoy - My dear, precious, that sort of thing

Mon Dieu - My God!

Mon Ami - My friend

_Oh - and in case you are wondering, Ivan puts the ring on Al's right hand 'cause that's the way they do it in Russia (:_

_I so look forward to your reviews my sweet readers! Every word you type keeps me going! _

_Russian Wedding will take a little longer to get out as I have ch 14 in It's Just Business and Ch 2 in In the Shadows of the Black Forest, but then I'll be on it! So, you can hold me to **no longer** than 2 weeks from today! (I know, I'm sorry! I uploaded this in no time and now I make you wait! ~In my defense I work 9am-8pm almost everyday~ Forgive me? I promise to make it worth your wait! Russians know how to do weddings up right! Expect a party that last for days! (baring any unforeseen circumstances...)_

_Again, Spasiba (thank you!) For the lovely reviews!_


	4. Chapter 4: Russian Wedding

_Well, its been 2 months…oh man. I am sooooo sorry! There have just been so many things going on since June…but still I promised 2 weeks and look at that. Ugh. Forgive me? I hope the chapter will make up for the wait, I just have been so busy and I didn't want to rush it and put out a sub-par chapter._

_Well, without further ado~_

_**Russian Wedding**_

_-You will notice I use 'Amerika' in this chaper instead of America – due to that being what Ivan calls him, and he's no longer a British colony~ Also, as Ivan promised, he is a separate region in the empire, and not called a colony anymore, but a part of Russia itself called Amerika, similar to how Siberia was a part of the Empire and called Siberia, anyway that was just my vision of it._

_Since the chapter is longer, I'm putting a couple of the Russian words used up front here so you wont be lost until the end, the sweet pillow talk will be down at the bottom though because I think you will get the gist and not be lost and I don't want to spoil the fun for you!_

_Pravitel'stvuyushchiee Senat – the state senate created by…I think it was Alexander II in the early 1700s. (you may have to look up if I'm right on which tsar initiated it if you're interested because I haven't slept all night and am WAY tired. Lol)_

_Hoyosos – cocksucker_

_Oh yeah, M for a reason. Expect a LOT of post wedding loving. __Very much M._

…..

Amerika stood in front of the mirror that stretched from ceiling to floor. His fur lined boots were silent on the plush rug that stretched over the large foyer outside the Tsarina's chapel. Ivan's boss had insisted their marriage take place in her home in St. Petersburg, the Winter Palace.

The young colony's stomach turned over with nerves. He adjusted the edge of his white breeches that ran down to tuck into knee-length boots. He bent and brushed a hand down the side, making sure the seam that ran along his leg was straight. He stood and fiddled with the shining new buttons of his crisp blue overcoat. The militaristic garb of his wedding attire was a clear reminder of the fact that he was at war.

He hadn't seen England since leaving the tent so many weeks ago now, but not long after signing the paper with Russia and arriving in St. Petersburg, France had appeared and first told him of the British Empire's official response and then Arthur's personal one.

Francis had of course, thrown in his support of their union. It seemed the off again, on again friendship he had with Arthur was off again. With the considerable weight of both French and Russian Empires behind them the war shouldn't last long, Alfred told himself, as he had been doing for some time.

There were mixed feelings toward his former Empire; on one hand Arthur and he had once been close, he had done much for him. On the other, he was taxed without representation, had no say in any of his laws, and in general, his freedom was stifled.

Tensions between them had been building for some time, this was simply fate. However, Amerika wanted the conflict to end as quickly as possible with the least amount of bloodshed.

Turning from the mirror and pacing along the hall, the blonde supposed his nerves were simply due to his worries over the British reaction and that he was alone in an unfamiliar palace. Ivan and Francis were with both their monarchs as the two met prior to the wedding.

It felt strange to know he was the topic, though he wasn't in the room. Ivan had promised to tell him everything…Alfred hoped his soon to be husband would keep that promise.

Suddenly a door opened down the hall, and the uneasy colony turned to see Ivan in his embodiment of Imperial Russia shake hands with his new ally France, who seemed for all the world to have forgotten the incident at the tent when Ivan had been known as the Master of the Winds.

As Francis left with his King to take their seats in the Grand Church, Ivan turned from the Tsarina who was doing the same.

Imperial Russia seemed just as much a giant as he had been when they had met, and still Alfred was unafraid. He stood tall and sure beside the mirror as Ivan strode toward him; his fiancé's small smile was easy and optimistic for a nation about to wage war.

As Russia stood beside his love, there was a sparkle in his violet eyes.

"You are ready, moi Amerika?" Ivan asked softly, as a warm unseasonable breeze flowed under the window sill across the hall and circled around the couple.

Alfred nodded silently as he looked up at Ivan. The Master of the Winds was truly in his role as Imperial Russia, dressed in a similar military uniform as he, but with the edition of a pale blue sash across his chest and gold epaulets at each shoulder.

As the couple entered, the Russian Empire pushed the door open with one hand as he kept his eyes on the golden haired colony on his arm. The two stepped in time together down the aisle toward the severe looking patriarch at the alter.

It was a small wedding. In attendance were their allies, the royal families of Russia, France, Spain, and the Netherlands beside their nation's human representatives. Next to the monarchs were many of the leaders of the American colonies, those who had approved of their joining with Russia.

It was a very serious affair, but Ivan had promised quite a party for the reception.

Blue eyes looked up to find and hold those of soft violet as they reached the altar and the leader of the Russian orthodox church who looked down upon them as he spoke in words Alfred didn't know yet, but knew he would have to learn soon.

…

While Alfred and Ivan were deep inside the winter palace about to cement their union, an uninvited guest was outside.

"Get out of my way, you bloody Russki bastards!"

The British Empire was not alone though he was outnumbered. Emerald eyes were livid and glowing with rage as he dismounted from his saddle, and as his small contingent of soldiers waited some distance away, Arthur pushed his way passed the human guards who soon found themselves engaged with his troops as they came around the building.

The blonde man took hold of the iron gates with both hands and looked up at the golden two headed eagle atop the gates that were keeping him from reclaiming what was his.

"Right." Arthur stepped back and centered himself.

Palms up toward the sky as if drawing down the very energy of the heavens.

He opened one green eye suddenly as if distracted. "This is no place for you Tink." He muttered to thin air before returning all attention on the gate in front of him.

He moved his palms then, toward the gate.

Chanting a rhyming pattern beneath his breath, the British Empire harkened back to his old days before Roman conquest, before witch hunts, before the protestants and catholics, before he had been an empire at all, but merely a collection of tribes, each following the old ways.

A light as green and electric as his eyes shot from his palms and hit the gate full force.

As his soldiers clashed with the Russians behind him, England stepped through the gates that swung open, crooked, and bent on their hinges for him.

Once inside he ran into a set of five rooms, from here he could go either direction.

He listened hard to the music that fell upon his ears throughout the palace. It must be coming from the chapel.

England stepped to the left then to the right, gauging from which direction the music sounded the strongest.

The Right.

The blonde turned and running full tilt, found himself soon tearing through Great Halls toward the sound of music as it began to winded down.

Finally, he was sure he had found the right place.

Arthur didn't stop or slow down at all as he rounded a corner and threw open the doors of the chapel.

"America! You-"

But whatever it was the British Empire was going to say, no one would ever learn.

The moment Arthur stepped into the chapel, Ivan, the master of the winds, the personage of Imperial Russia pulled away from the first kiss he was sharing with the new Russian region, Amerika, as a married couple.

Violet eyes were slits of fury, as large round baby blues turned to squint in his direction.

As the sky darkened, the temperature dropped dangerously low and thunder sounded above the palace, Arthur was greeted by the heads of state of three kingdoms who had thrown in their lot with the Russians. His eyes roved over the governors of his colonies who stood beside the monarchs of Europe; their unease with the decadence beside them was suddenly nothing to the animosity he felt under their gaze as they recognized his uniform.

There was an uproar as the Tsarina called for her guards, but there was no need. Ivan had moved toward Arthur immediately, Alfred a step behind him.

Violet eyes still ominously slit, no trace of the slight smile was left on Russia's face as he stood, towering over England. "You are so eager to fight?" The taller empire stepped closer to the powerful but shorter one.

Perhaps it was the standing he enjoyed in the world, or else the centuries at the top, with many colonies all over the globe, or perhaps it was simply in his character, whatever the reason, Arthur reached past Ivan to where his former colony stood beside the giant and took hold of Alfred's arm.

With that movement several things happened at once.

England spoke up disdainfully, "You're coming with me; and what the hell are you wearing?" Just as Alfred recoiled and pulled away, "No I'm not! I'm with Russia now and you can't do anything about it old man!"

Though it was spoken clearly, Arthur heard only a half of Alfred's words as Ivan's reaction to Amerika being touched by the other empire had everyone fleeing the room.

He would not let England forget how he had run from him earlier when they had met in the tent during the blizzard.

As Alfred had been retorting back to Arthur, Ivan had stepped up and grabbed the offending trespasser by his crimson lapels.

A frigid gust of wind blew around the room in a loose cyclone of freezing air; the lamps flickered and died, leaving those who remained in the room in the cool natural light streaming in under the door and through the windows.

"You will keep your hands off him from now on." Ivan's tone was as icy as the wind he conjured as he let go of the Brit's lapels to drop him to the ground.

Scrambling to his feet again, Arthur was undaunted. "He's mine; He's coming with me, and there's nothing you can do about it Ruski!" Reaching for Alfred again, he continued,

"C'mon America, come with me now and I'll forgive the lighter treasons."

The taller blonde pushed his former empire off of him, "No, I'm not yours, I'm not coming with you! You never really cared about me at all! It was always my cotton, my tobacco, my land and resources – that's all that matters to you!"

"You stupid bleeding wanker, how dare you talk to me that way?" Arthur seemed to have forgotten Ivan was there again and reached for Alfred's arm a third time. His grip hardened as he had obviously decided enough was enough. "You think a stamp tax is much? You come with me right this instant and forget this daft plan of yours or I'll dissolve all the colony's powers, replace all the governors with loyal ones; I'll tax every little thing I can; and if you think you don't get a voice now-"

Alfred interrupted as he stepped down hard on Arthur's foot, finally getting him to release his hold on his arm. "He'll listen to me!" Russia's smile reappeared as his Amerika tried out the Russian language, "He'll give me a place in the…" Alfred took his time with the words, "Pravitel'stvuyushchiee Senat!"

Clearly he had done well as Russia beamed and England's expression dropped as though he'd just been told there would be no more tea on earth.

Spurred on by the reaction, and taking advantage of Arthur's silence, Alfred went on, "and Ivan will let me have a militia, you greedy, pompous…" Alfred seemed to be unable to find the word he was looking for, something strong enough to encompass his anger.

His violet eyed husband leaned in low and whispered in the blonde's ear, "Hoyesos."

Never caring that he didn't know what it meant, Alfred trusted that it was bad enough to convey his feelings. "Hoyesos!" The former colony folded his arms and faced his once Empire.

Truly taken aback, England turned wide eyes to the taller Empire. "Whats this?" He went on, "I know you're insulting me somehow in your ridiculous backward language, but what, a militia?" He laughed before turning back to his former colony. "And you believe him? No empire in its right mind would allow a colony to have a separate militia!" The shorter blonde leaned in, "Before you know it, it'll be his cotton, his tobacco, his land, won't it?" England grinned. "But of course, lad, you know I won't let you go."

Russia had apparently had enough. He had stood quietly by letting his courageous and outspoken new partner handle things, and had been pleased by his loyalty. However with England's words that Russia could not be trusted, a tiny shadow of doubt had passed over Amerika's sky blue eyes.

Russia would have to show him he meant every word.

Reaching for Amerika a fourth time, England went on, "Now, see here – you're simply coming with me and that's final."

No sooner had his fingers encircled the former colony's upper arm, then Russia reached back and decked him with a well aimed fist to the jaw. The Russian Empire then reached one arm around Amerika and spoke to both his love and to his enemy. "_Our _cotton, _our_ tobacco, all is _ours_."

Reeling from the punch, England spluttered, "Brute!" as he drew his saber from its sheath and swaying slightly faced his new enemy. "I'll never give up my colony!" He spared a glance toward Amerika haughtily and aimed to hurt, "and yes, that means all your resources are mine, I won't lie and tell you otherwise!" He appeared to be building up a rant as he looked from Russia to Amerika, "I settled you, I tamed you, I taught you my language, you're mine America, you always will be!"

"Tamed me?" Amerika scoffed, As if he could be tamed!

Russia took hold of the collar of England's bright crimson coat and pulled him off the floor. Vehemently, Ivan's violet eyes glinted with hitherto only heard-of violence as he glared into the murderous emerald slits staring back at him. "He will never be yours again. Your touch will be wiped from my Amerika, and only mine will remain."

Still in the large Tsardom's grasp, the Island Kingdom goaded him on, "Oh? Lets settle this now, right here, like men. A dual."

The wind swirled around the room, building up speed and strength as it came closer to the center of the chapel where the three men stood. Amerika looked around at the cyclones of frigid north wind and was surprised to see the other Empires had stuck around when their rulers had left the room. France and Spain were holding on to one another as the icy gale blew past them on the way toward the aisle where Amerika now stood with Russia and England, still held in Ivan's grasp. Only the Netherlands seemed to be unaffected by the cold winds and stood, leaning against one of the windows.

Ivan's eyes upturned with his smile as the individual cyclones merged to form a terrifyingly massive tornado. Under his control, the spinning clouds did no damage to the church, and simply swirled around the three of them, its train-like sound horrifying in its immensity.

Ivan whispered, smiling to his nemesis before releasing his collar. "We will fight, da, but not today. Today is my wedding day."

The master of the winds then released the British Empire to the storm, and with a flick of his wrist, Russia commanded the winds to take his enemy home, far from where he intended to celebrate his wedding, and mark his new love as his and his alone.

The doors to the church blasted open and the wind carrying England blew over the heads of the royalty gathered outside in the hall. The powerful and cold cyclone bore the furious green-eyed nation down the stairs and through the palace, out the gate, and across the Neva.

It did not stop until dropping him at the feet of an astounded and irate King George III.

…

Russia turned to Amerika as the royalty began its talks of the coming war, and the men Amerika had selected as his best leaders joined with those of the empires who would be their allies in an effort to make sure the promises made were not forgotten.

As the human bosses discussed politics and their next moves, the nations themselves were able to take a rare evening off for the wedding reception.

In Moscow at one of Ivan's older palaces, after many toasts, made predominantly by France and Ukraine, the vodka flowed, the feast seemed endless, and music played until the musicians could play no more, at which point a new band was brought in. All in attendance danced, drank, and made merry well into the night and the early hours of the next day. All of Russia's allies and lands under his empire were there with the exception of his younger sister Belarus who had chosen not to attend.

Francis and Antonio seemed to have forgotten any bad blood they had had before and were singing together with Netherlands, each in his own tongue as they swayed, happily drunk on both wine and vodka.

Estonia and Latvia were giggling under the influence of the alcohol and good food, and were trying to rouse Lithuania from staring forlornly out the window, as the drinks and party had brought memories of previous grandeur and union to his mind.

Ukraine had fallen asleep in a window sill after hugging Amerika many times and telling both he and her younger brother how happy she was for both of them and to have Amerika as her brother in law.

Looking about the room at their guests, those many minor allies and those under the influence of Russia dancing and carrying on in jubilation, Ivan decided that at last he and Alfred were not needed, and with the level of intoxication their guests were now enjoying, they would not be missed.

The blonde was tipsy already himself and leaned into the larger Russia. Ivan steered Alfred around a corner into a hall just outside the reception as it continued without them.

The silver haired Tsardom lifted his love up and as Alfred wrapped his legs around Ivan's waist naturally, the Empire carried the now completely former British Colony down the hall and thru a heavy wooden door into an ancient room.

Candles lit the room from the iron sconces on the wall and illuminated the centuries old wooden palace's walls. Rich strong oak panels made up the walls of one of Ivan's oldest surviving bedrooms. Tapestries in faded yet still glorious colors hung from the wall; the stately canopy bed was hung with thick red velvet curtains, made for keeping in the warmth on cold Russian nights.

Russia groaned lightly as Amerika kissed along his neck above the ever-present scarf and toyed with the golden epaulets at the Empire's broad shoulder. Though Alfred was nervous, he was also excited and optimistic for his future. Ivan had promised he would truly be a part of the Empire, he would be called Amerika, and not simply a set of colonies. Though they were now at war with England, Alfred knew it would have come anyway, and now he had the might of Ivan's Empire behind him.

The blonde let himself be lowered onto the sumptuous velvet and fur coverlet; his heartbeat quickened as his husband's violet eyes glittered in the dark of the canopy and Ivan, lovingly unbuttoning each of the shining new buttons on the younger region's navy blue waistcoat, whispered, "I know many have claimed to have discovered you, my krasivee Amerika; moi miliy, many have settled you for a time, looking for treasures beyond their deserving…"

The broad Russian freed the last of Alfred's buttons and removing the coat and linen under shirt, and leaning low on his knees, over the bare chest, his hips settled between the Amerikan's legs, Ivan's lips found one of the hard pink areolas on his lover's lean chest.

"Mmm ti vkoosnee sosok, moi derogoy." The violet eyed Tsardom whispered before continuing in his earlier train of thought as his hands worked their way down to the buttons on the tight white military breeches, identical to his own.

"Many have treated you badly in the past, and you were unprepared for the world, they looked for gold," Russia's eyes flashed up from Amerika's hips to the golden locks of hair, "many have claimed that you were to be their 'new world'."

Ivan sighed as he flicked the last button open, and Alfred felt his breath hitch in his throat as his heart raced ahead of his thoughts which were only of the man now sliding the crisp white breeches from his legs, pulling the boots off along with them to toss at the foot of the bed.

Ivan smiled as he wrapped one large hand around his man's nearly hardened cock, now freed from the confines of the uniform. He leaned in low, his own need straining against too tight trousers he now worked to loosen with the other hand, as vibrant violet eyes locked onto bright blue.

"But their claims will be as nothing. I will be the one to find the treasure, to claim you as no other ever will. I will erase their touch from your body, moi Amerika."

Alfred wasn't sure what to say in response, and under the possessive gaze as Ivan both began to pump his hand along his new husband's shaft, and unbutton his own breeches at the same time.

Instead of speaking, as he really couldn't seem to find the words, the new Russian region reached for the Empire's scarf and arching his back as he gave in to the pleasure coursing through his body, Alfred pulled Ivan down low over him.

The blonde first pulled the blue sash overhead and then began to unbutton his silver haired lover's waistcoat as Russia focused on unbuttoning his trousers. In no time the waistcoat and undershirt were off, the breeches were being pulled down, and tossed away.

Ivan had removed his hand from his love's hardened appendage reluctantly to free his own from the confines of the uniform. Russia kept the pride from his face with difficulty as Amerika reacted with a gasp at the size of the Empire he was now apart of.

Imperial Russia was broad as he was tall; what some could have thought of as fat beneath his uniform was clearly muscle. Alfred swallowed hard and tried not to think of the sheer size of the man, but to think of the words he had said, the way the violet eyes looked over him, the way the paler, cool hands felt as they ran along his body, and the way Ivan's body felt under his own hands as Alfred moved them up the Russian's chest to wrap his arms around Ivan's neck, twisting his fingers through silvery locks.

"Ya lyublyu tebya, Amerika." Russia leaned down, rubbing his painfully hard cock on his lover's firm thigh as he took Amerika's chin with one hand and turning it to him, brought their lips together in a passionate kiss.

As Alfred parted his lips to grant Ivan's tongue access, he sighed into the kiss as the larger man's cock slid against his own, sending shockwaves of pleasure shooting up through his body.

Ivan ground his hips against his favored region's and was pleased to feel Amerika returning the movement as their tongues wound around eachother flirtily, exploring eachother's taste and warmth.

The Russian took hold of his Amerikan's hips with both hands and increased the movement. Happily Ivan closed his eyes, content to hear Alfred's light moan turn to a whimper as his golden haired love tightened his hold on the larger empire and worked to move his hips along Ivan's at the pace Russia had set.

Neither spoke much, but sighed and moaned at the other's touch, and into each penetrative kiss, as their cocks moved against one another's, slick with precum that spread across each man's abdomen as Ivan leaned over his love, pressing Alfred against the velvet bedclothes.

In the weeks that had passed since Amerika agreed to marry Russia and become a part of his empire, Alfred had learned a sizable amount of Ivan's language as well as about his new husband, and as their lips parted, swollen and pink from the impassioned kisses, Alfred returned Ivan's declaration of love in a gasp against his the other man's neck.

"Ya lyublyu te-eb-bya, V-vanya." Alfred's words degenerated as his breathing came harder and more labored, as with the sound of his name and the words his new love had picked up, Russia felt the heat rise in his face as his blood pulsed throughout his body rapidly and the need to claim his beautiful and perfect addition to the Empire overwhelmed him.

Ivan bit down on the soft flesh of his love's neck and thrilled with the sharp gasp and tightened grip he felt as Amerika's nails dug into his back, Russia added hard swipes of his tongue as he sucked in at the bite, intent to leave his mark clearly, for all to see. Finding it difficult to keep in his desires to stake his irrevocable claim that instant, Ivan released his love's neck with a wet pop, violet eyes twinkled in glee at the rosy bruise already blossoming.

"Damn, Ivan!" Alfred's fingers ran along the sensitive bruise at his neck. Amerika smiled up at his Russian love, as Ivan erased the space between them and reached pale fingers into golden hair, as he slid down Alfred's hard chest to leave sharp little love bites across his beloved's body.

Ivan's eyes flashed like lightening as he looked up from Alfred's chest to see need clouding the sky blue eyes that were now half closed. Amerika's every gasp and sigh, the telltale hitch in his breath, the tightening grip on Ivan's back and around his neck where his love held on to him, each of these combined to torment the Russian who could no longer wait to claim the treasures of Amerika for his own, to mark the new world with his touch that none could ever remove.

He had only to shift his position slightly, to lift his lover's hips a touch higher, to reach for the grease he had ready in preparation for this night.

Alfred's heartbeat increased to drum loudly in his ears and pulse painfully in the hardest part of his body, swollen and red with his need for release. The blonde was torn between the fear of pain and the desire for the strong violet eyed Empire. As Russia coated his fingers in the grease and with a gaze that held his less experienced partner's attentions fully, Ivan held Alfred's hip with one hand and positioned the other at his love's entrance. "You are ready, da, moi lyubov?"

It was all the blonde could do to nodd his head once as he bit at his lip and held his husband's powerful violet gaze as Ivan inserted first one and then two fingers into the tight ring of muscle.

Amerika felt the sweat bead along his hairline and run down his neck as his brow furrowed under the sudden pressure. He wrapped a hand around his own shaft as Ivan began to move his thick fingers, to curl them inside the warmth of his lover's body, to push them deeper and draw them out again.

With each movement, Russia prepared his love for the larger part of his body he longed to bury within the warm softness of his expressive Amerika. Alfred's breathing grew shallow and his eyes closed tight as Ivan increased his speed and depth, all the while laying soft kisses and sharp nips along Alfred's legs which were lifted and draped over each arm.

Suddenly blue eyes flew open and Amerika gasped and began to move his hips down onto Russia's fingers which had found the spot within him that shot pleasure through his body in waves, the pain forgotten.

Ivan moaned deep in his throat at the sight of his beautiful and strong partner pressing himself onto his fingers, adding a third, the Russian empire began to prepare his lover for more; he stretched the pliant ring of muscle as he bucked against his man's thigh involuntarily.

Amerika's breath came in shallow gasps as he arched his back and moved against his lover, his body hot with sweat and the desire for more, he searched for the words in Russian to say, and in short bursts, he managed to just get it out around his clenched teeth.

"Pazhaloosta, Vanya…" Alfred forced his eyes open and met his man's intense gaze, "Ya hochu bolshye…"

"Ah, Vash krasivee golos!" Ivan gripped his man tighter at the sound of the Russian words in Amerika's voice and sighed in relief that his love was ready for him. Ivan wasted no time in slicking his painfully ready cock and positioning himself, prepared to stake his claim on his Amerika.

With violet eyes only increasing in possessive intensity, Russia, still with one large hand gripping his lover's hip, reached the other hand back into beloved golden hair and held Amerika in place, their eyes locked onto one another.

As he began to press himself inside, Ivan's breath came in shallow bursts as he filled his love's body. Alfred's azure eyes watered and began to close, his back arching off the covers.

Amerika clenched his jaw tightly closed, determined not to show any signs of pain; he focused on the pleasurable sensations and not the stretching pressure he told himself would pass.

Pressing further inside, Ivan pulled on his younger husband's sunflower colored hair as he brought their lips together. "Do not look away; keep your eyes on me as we become one, moi Amerika."

His bottom lip quivering in betrayal, Amerika lifted his chin and opened his eyes to meet Russia's equally.

Violet holding onto blue, Ivan exhaled slowly in contrast to his lover's sharp intake of breath. The Empire now fully sheathed in his beloved, Ivan dropped his forehead into the crook of Alfred's neck, breaking their eye contact as he began to move.

As the two became more familiar with eachother's bodies and fell into a rhythm, Amerika loosened, his jaw relaxed, as his hips moved in harmony with his husband's as Ivan pressed deeper and built up speed, whispering sweet words in Russian in Alfred's ear as he nibbled on the edge, pulling on the lobe with his teeth.

It was as Russia whispered, "Moi Bozhe, ti chuvstvuete sebya horosho!" moving his kisses along Alfred's neck, that he pressed upon the spot his fingers had reached earlier. The blonde moaned and tossed his head to the side, eyes closed tight as he arched into his lover's arms, legs straightening, toes curling as he locked them together behind the empire's back.

Both men sped up, Ivan pushing Alfred into the bed as he drove into him harder and faster. Both men sighing into each kiss they shared, moaning eachother's name, and gasping as they each came closer and closer to climax, Russia marking every inch of his Amerika that he could, a warm summary breeze swirling his lover's blonde locks as violet eyes never left those of softest blue. The glistening corners of those azure eyes undid the Russian completely, as the warm breeze built into a gale that swirled around the couple.

Finally unable to hold it in, Amerika let a single tear escape his eye and track down his cheek as he moaned low, calling out his loves name intimately, not Master of the Winds as he had met him, not even Russia as he had wed him, but as Ivan and then stiltedly Vanya as he came hot and fast onto the other man's abdomen.

Violet eyes wide, Ivan realized his luck that the brave, stubborn British colony trudged through the snow to him those weeks ago, that he had not only expanded the empire, but had found someone who could love him; when so many others had called his nation backward or cruel, Alfred could look at him with wide eyes and call him by his name.

The warm gale swirling around the couple turned and ran hot as a summer day in the most southern of Amerika's land. The wind breathed against the Amerikan's neck, ruffled his hair and held him close mirroring his Russian lover's arms as Ivan held Alfred tightly, and with a sense of deep satisfaction he could not remember feeling before, the master of the winds filled his love as he came, breathing a heavy sigh against the blonde's sweat drenched neck.

For a few moments as the gale dropped to a pleasant summer breeze, the couple lay without moving. Each man breathing in the scent and feel of the other. When at last they did reluctantly part, Ivan pulled Alfred in close in the crook of one arm.

The former British colony trailed a finger along his empire's chest. Both men were silent for a time, Ivan waiting for Alfred to speak. Finally, he did, blue eyes closed as he lay back against the soft pillows "Um, sorry you're in this war, ya know, because of me. I would have left eventually I think…I mean things had been tense for a while."

Ivan turned to face Alfred, "Nyet, moi derogoy, Ya lyublyu tebya." The master of the winds, the Russian empire, brushed the damp cowlick from his Amerika's forehead, as he continued, "I could not have waited." Violet eyes lit up with the fire they had held when his love's former empire had stormed into their wedding uninvited, "And I do not worry. We are strong together, and we have more allies on our side."

Alfred's brow furrowed slightly as he began to fade into sleep, "I hope the war doesn't last long, and someday I hope Arthur will understand."

"Mmm," Ivan looked up at the canopy's velvet top draped above them, seeing past it, envisioning their victory, and their future. "I cannot promise what England will do, but I can assure you moi Amerika, together we will be unstoppable."

His blonde love shivered beside him, smiling in his half sleep at the Russian's words.

Ivan pulled the blankets up to cover them both as a warm late spring breeze touched softly over the bed.

_~The End~_

_Russian sweet nothings:_

_Krasivee - beautiful_

_moi miliy – my sweetheart_

_ti vkoosnee sosok, moi derogoy – your delicious nipple my dear_

_Ya lyublyu tebya – I love you_

_Lyubov - lover_

_Pazhaloosta Ya hochu bolshye – please I want more_

_Ah, Vash krasivee golos – ah, your beautiful voice_

_Moi Bozhe, ti chuvstvuete sebya horosho – My god, you feel so good_

_Nyet, moi derogoy, Ya lyublyu tebya – No my dear, I love you._

_Thank you for reading! Pazhaloosta review? Reviews are of course lovingly appreciated, always, always, always!_

_Again, sorry for the EXTREMELY long wait, I hope the decent sized chapter made up for it! Thank you all for your patience!_

_Well that's that, my we can imagine how different history would have been, lol._


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